


not so green with envy

by virgotrocious



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Blood, No Smut, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgotrocious/pseuds/virgotrocious
Summary: You hadn't really wanted to go on a blind date for any reason besides proving a point, but Beetlejuice didn't agree with your methods in the slightest.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	not so green with envy

You and Beetlejuice were not dating. He made that fact very clear to you every time you even thought to use the "b" word (boyfriend) around him, once going as far as to snap your mouth shut with a bit of demonic flare that had your guts coiled tighter than a set spring. 

  


It didn't bother you enough to cut off the relationship, however. 

  


Beetlejuice liked you, and you liked him; at least in a sense perhaps more complicated than the typical mutual reception of romantic feelings, given how he responded to titles. You could come home from a long day and say his name in the same cadence as any familiar mantra is said, and he would hang out with you, watch a movie, eat pizza, and/or roughly pin you against any and all surfaces in the apartment. For him, you supposed, it was all fun and games; low risk, high reward. 

But you wanted something more than that. He might have an eternity to blow, but you had just graduated college and your life wasn't exactly set on a path ad infinitum. It didn't feel so wrong, then, to accept the pitch of a blind date from a coworker—to search for something more sustainable in the long term. That was how you ended up with date plans on a Wednesday night, with work in the morning, and Beetlejuice angrier than the time you threw his suit jacket in with the wash and "ruined its vintage feel." 

  


You and your mysterious date were set to meet up at eight o'clock that evening in front of a local movie theater, and you arrived at a quarter 'til.

Sitting on a bench outside while waiting, you rubbed the sore circle around your wrist where Beetlejuice had grabbed as you tried to leave. It was impossible not to notice how upset he was about the prospect of your date, but he was upset by a lot of things and you knew if the date didn't go too well he would still be home for you to return to. It wasn't fair for him to be upset, anyways. He had gone to great lengths to make it clear he "couldn't be tied down," but all that meant to you was there were some cracks in your relationship he felt the need to fill elsewhere. 

You slouched on the bench and rested your chin in your hand, elbow propped against your knee. The date had seemed like a good idea, you had fought for it, but now that you were actually here, the static buzz of anticipation had dulled into stale acknowledgement. You checked the time, 8:05, and wondered how much of tonight was just you trying to get petty revenge. If you weren't enough for him, then why should he be enough for you? 

  


"Hello?" You shot up, startled, and the man in front of you tensed. "Oh, sorry; I thought you might've been my blind date."

You smoothed out your top and laughed in a way you hoped was apologetic. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you blinked slowly and looked up to meet the man's eyes. 

"Adrian? It's nice to meet you! You didn't make a mistake, don't worry, I guess I just zoned out."

He smiled and nodded once, seemingly in contemplation, before turning and walking into the theater. You were surprised he hadn't wanted to chat a bit more, but he was a little late and the movie was going to start soon. Instead of dwelling, you followed suit inside, a little put off as the door nearly closed on you.

  


The movie was loud and boring, an action flick that felt more like an attempt to make money than contribute anything culturally significant or genuinely entertaining to the franchise. Still, you kept your eyes on the screen, choosing not to fight your brain when it tried to carry you away. 

  


You wondered what Beetlejuice was up to. After he had grabbed your wrist, which you were back to rubbing idly, you had sent him away to make your life a little easier. He had mentioned a sort of other world he lives in sometimes, boasting proudly about dual-citizenship and green cards, but all you knew for sure was that wherever that was, it wasn't here; as your date made a snide comment about one of the female leads, you sort of wished it were.

  


The movie ended about an hour too late and it was clear your date disagreed. He seemed to have enjoyed the movie well enough, but was having even more fun complaining about aspects of it you would never care to notice. 

"-and what was with that girls outfit?" he droned on, "What's the point of casting attractive actresses and then making them cover up all the things that make them attractive. Like, seriously, she was in jeans half the movie."

You looked down and your outfit uncomfortably, running a hand absentmindedly against the blue denim of your own jeans. Adrian might've noticed, but didn't say anything about it. 

"Well it's getting late, I should probably get home soon," you said, taking out your phone to check the time so you wouldn't have to look at him while you said it. 

"Oh?" He was smiling now, somewhere between happy and unsettling. "I should walk you; it isn't safe for a fine young lady to walk home alone." 

One hand grazed your upper arms and the other went straight to your ass, which you shifted quickly away from. He couldn't possibly be serious, and you gave him a dubious look that hopefully said as much. For as thick as Adrian seemed, he caught on quick, if his anger meant anything. 

"Oh, seriously? I should've known you were a prude." He was sneering now, leaning over you as if to emphasize the height advantage. "I should've left the second I saw you. All I was looking for was a good lay, and what? You seriously expected a guy like me to be interested in you for anything else? Wake up, bitch." 

With that, he stalked away. 

  


You didn't remember the walk home by the time you got to your apartment door, and you counted yourself lucky for it. Your date might've been a misogynistic asshole, but he was right about one thing—the door clicked when you locked it, and your bed squeaked beneath the weight of your back—you really weren't good for anything but a quick lay. 

Your eyes stung, but the pain was dry, and although your uneven breathing suggested otherwise it was easy to tell yourself that you weren't bothered; to dismiss the guy as just another asshole in a too-small town. Still, your ego writhed as it shrunk, and you weren't in the mood to contemplate how worthless a single comment could make you feel. Instead, you rubbed your eyes a little too hard and opened your mouth to speak.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

And with that, he appeared. 

  


His hair was darker than you would've liked, a little on the brown side as red mixed with green and created a murky swamp of obvious discontent. You did your best to ignore the pit in your stomach as he looked down at you with a deep frown. 

"Hey, Beej," you tried weakly, only a little surprised by the cold greeting, more so by the silence. 

"How was your 'date'?" He spat, choking out the word as if it were a damnation aimed in your direction.

"Fine," you brushed off, not wanting to admit that maybe he was right, maybe had been all along. "How was your night?" 

Beetlejuice climbed into bed with you and planted a knee on either side of your torso. He licked his lips as he leaned down to graze your ear. 

"Better now." 

You smiled a little, relieved he wasn't giving you the silent treatment or putting a hole through your wall. Still, red peppered the tips of his hair and you tentatively reached up to touch it. 

"Ah, ah," he grabbed your wrist again, action a little too rough to match the soft manner in which he scolded you, and with even less care, yanked the wrist up to your bed frame. 

"Beej-?" you began to question, tugging gently at his grip, more to test the strength then try and escape. Iron-clad. You gulped. 

He laughed and snapped with his free hand; suddenly you were bound to the bed, hands high above your head. It wasn't the first time, but you still struggled a bit.

"I don't know if-"

He cut you off with his lips over yours, licking a small stripe across your bottom lip. 

"Come on, babes," his voice was low; measured and calm in a way that felt exceedingly unfamiliar. "Trust me." 

It was silent for a minute. You tried to think, but your brain was radio static. If it really was all you're good for, there wasn't much to lose. You nodded. 

Suddenly, your feet were spread apart and given the same treatment as your hands, stretching you near the full length of your bed. Beetlejuice still looked above you, the calculated smile he wore increasingly disconcerting as time went on. You tugged at the restraints again. They had no give to them, taut even as you shifted. They were metal, a realization you made rather quickly, the cold surface unforgiving as it bit into your skin. You stopped wriggling and returned your attention to Beetlejuice.

"You look amazing tied up like that babes," his voice was raspy—even more than normal. He pulled two strips of cloth out from his jacket and you probably would've been impressed by their cleanliness were you not preoccupied. He snaked the fabric under your head and brought the strips around, one at a time.

The first piece went around your mouth, friction mildly uncomfortable against your chapped lips. He kissed you through the fabric and laughed when you tried to reciprocate. The sound brought some semblance of comfort, and you didn't fight it when the second strip was tied over your eyes. 

The last thing you saw as Beetlejuice finished the knot was red hair. 

  


Your bed shifted as Beetlejuice stood up from it, mattress groaning until it had the opportunity to settle out again. What felt like a couple minutes passed silently, and you strained to hear the demon breathe. It seemed, however, he was deciding not to. 

Thinking you had been left alone, your heartbeat quickened and suddenly being tied up wasn't quite so bearable. You tried to take a deep breath and calm yourself, but the cloth restricted your breathing just enough as to make it uncomfortable.

"I know babes," you heard a mockingly happy voice announce from across the room. "I don't like being hung out to dry either."

  


Panic quelled in your chest as your bedroom door clicked shut, breath quickening to the point of burying an ache deep in your lungs, dry and scratchy as you inhaled the lingering dust ingrained in the fabric against your mouth. You rubbed hard at the restraints, knowing full well they wouldn't give in for you, not if Beetlejuice wanted them to stay in place. 

The metal wasn't quite so cold anymore, having sucked warmth from your body to heat the surface, but it bit all the same. You stilled your wrists to prevent the skin from actually breaking, eyes moving rapidly from behind the blindfold. 

You should've known better than to expect anything else. The man you summoned today wasn't the Beetlejuice you knew, at least, not a part of him that you had ever met before. You had seen him mad, hair fiery red and practically glowing with the heat emitting from his usually cold body, seen him scream and shatter mirrors, punch holes in walls and leave singed footprints in your carpet that smell like burned fiber and sulfur. You had gotten the silent treatment before, only once, when you hadn't summoned him for a week because of final exams, wanting to give you a taste of how it felt to be ignored. But not anything like this.

  


Realization dawned on you and settled as an additional weight against your stomach that only made it harder to breath. That's what he had meant; left out to dry. Tears gathered in your eyes and dampened the fabric against them. You wanted to be angrier, but this really was your fault, wasn't it? You left him alone, trapped wherever the hell he was, and he was only returning the favor. 

It was getting hard to stay awake, exhaustion and panic blending into a sickening paste that caught in your throat and had lights dancing in your vision: or lack thereof. 

The last thing you remember thinking before passing out was whether restricting your breathing was accidental, or just another part of him showing you how he feels. 

  
  


Waking up didn't dawn an acceptance for your situation, but rather renewed the initial panic of being bound and abandoned.

You woke with a start and tried to shoot into a sitting position, but succeeded only in tugging your shoulder so hard it might as well have dislocated. You screamed in pain and shock from behind the gag and gave another sharp tug at the metal cuffs stupidly, as if it proved anything. The metal was almost slick now from your sweat, near hot to the touch, and you wondered helplessly if you could slip out. 

  


Trying to remain otherwise still and failing miserably, you pulled hard on the arm that didn't quite hurt so much, nearly sobbing in relief when you felt the smallest hint of give around your hand. Slowly, painfully, you worked your hand out, moving carefully until the metal decided to bite back. 

A particularly sharp edge sunk its teeth into your hand, pinching the skin back and tearing it messily. You made another sound, quieter still as adrenaline pumped through your body and made the pain bearable. Blood—slick like motor oil and equally metallic—dripped from the cut and to your morbid delight, allowed you to slip your hand free easily. 

Just as soon as your hand was free, you heard your door fly open and slam into the wall. You heard drywall break and pieces of it fall back into the hidden space between rooms. You heard breathing, labored and panicked, and genuinely struggled to tell whether it was yours. 

  


God, Beetlejuice was mad wasn't he? He had set up a punishment for you, drastic and over dramatic as it was, and caught you in the act of breaking free. You quaked against your mattress, free hand dripping and shoulder aching, tears soaking through the blindfold. You heard footsteps approach quickly, tensing before a thud sounded next to your bed. 

Suddenly, hands were working at the fabric around your head and you could breathe again. You gasped for a full breath of air and a moment later you could see. 

Beetlejuice was on his knees beside your bed, pale as snow and hair so blue it was practically black, deep like the jagged chasms lining the ocean floor. You screwed your eyes shut, the dawn blue light filtering in through the window too much for your eyes. The bed sunk with a sudden excess of additional weight and as a snap sounded, your tense limbs sagged bonelessly onto the mattress for the first time in hours. 

"...babes?" 

  


You opened your eyes, and hated yourself for being relieved his hair was still blue. The demon shifted so he was straddling you, all gentleness and caution until you flinched away from him. Beetlejuice laughed; an awful, watery sound. He looked at your wrists, skin red and angry, then at your blood-slick hand.

"Oh, I've really fucked up this time, haven't I doll?" He shifted a little further away but didn't get off the bed. From how he was looking at you, it might've been impossible for him to do otherwise. 

  


You cradled your bloody hand close to your chest and saw the Beetlejuice you knew sitting close enough to touch, though you'd never quite felt further away. 

He was on his knees now, taller than you but not towering, and clearly at a loss for what to do. It was silent, but only for a minute.

"I could smell him on you."

You smiled weakly. Your shoulder didn't ache quite so much any more and although the adrenaline was wearing off, your hand didn't hurt unbearably. Looking at the cut, it really wasn't all too bad, not enough to need stitches anyways. You scooted closer to the wall your bed was pushed up against and patted the spot next to you. 

  


The demon didn't miss a beat. He was beside you in an instant, dirty hand hovering just above your uninjured one. He cleared his throat and moved to place it next to yours on the mattress.

You forced yourself to lean into him a little, let him know it was okay, but it was obvious he could feel how tense you were. 

"It's okay that you don't want to date me," you whispered, trying to keep dejection from leaking into your tone.

He didn't respond verbally, instead sitting up straight and stiff like a soldier called to attention. With a sigh, you lay back a bit more, relaxing into the demon's side. 

"I wouldn't want to date me either." 

  


Getting pulled fully into his chest wasn't a memory you had as much as the knowledge that it must've happened given how you were suddenly sat in between his legs. 

  


"Babes, you know I don't hate you, right?" 

Instead of responding, you looked dubiously at the bright red rings around your wrists and tried to ignore how you shoulder twitched. Feeling defeated, you let your forehead fall against Beetlejuice's chest and took an uneven breath. 

"Yeah," he mumbled into your scalp, letting his chin rest atop your head. "I guess I'm not making too good a case for myself, am I?" His tone lifted at the end as if to imply a joke, but his voice shook with sincerity. "I wanted you to know what it felt like to get left behind. I guess I was hoping you'd see how bad it was and…" 

He trailed off and you mumbled into his chest, "And never do it to you again?"

Beetlejuice pulled back a bit, separating your head from his chest, and took hold of your chin. The move wasn't quite so suave, rough around the edges and a little awkward because of your position, but he craned his neck and kissed you anyways.

  


"You're too good for me, ya know that?" 

Feeling a little less uneasy, exhaustion began to nibble at the edges of your consciousness. You tried to kiss him again, but missed just so and caught instead the corner of his lips. 

"More than a fucktoy?" 

  


If you were thinking a little clearer, those words wouldn't have left your lips. You wouldn't have seen Beetlejuice look down at you with shock scrawled around his widened eyes or the guilt and concern that creased the space in between his brows. For a second, you thought your slip up would be the start of a conversation you absolutely didn't want to have right now, and relief flooded your body when instead of taking the comment and running with it, the demon just curled around you a little tighter. 

"Of course, doll," he mumbled softly. "More than that. Always." 

  


You fell asleep soon after, and the last thing you remember thinking was how badly you missed when his green hair.

  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Leave...a comment


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